Den of Thieves

by William Holden

  “I am sorry, sir.” I cleared my throat. “I must admit that your knowledge of me has taken me by surprise. I cannot be of concern to his majesty.”

  “Your problem, Mr. Newton, if I may be so bold,” he waited for my nod. “Is that you think too little of yourself. What you did is of great concern to the king and therefore all of the offices of Parliament. You and your two associates risked your lives to right an injustice that had been allowed to flourish for too long.”

  “Still I—”

  “Modesty does not suit you, Mr. Newton.” He placed his hands on his desk. “With that said, his majesty has asked me to deliver this to you Mr. Baptiste, but since Mr. Newton sits here before me, I shall give it to him.”

  “Sir?” I said as the sergeant opened a drawer and pulled out a folded sheet of paper baring the royal seal. He handed it to me. I ran my finger over the waxed seal as I wondered if it was in bad taste to open an official letter from the king upon receiving it. I looked at Pierre then at the sergeant. He smiled at my apparent nervousness.

  “Do not worry, my boy.” He waved his hand in the air as if shooing a fly. “The king has released Mr. Green’s property to you. The account information is inside. You are a wealthy young man, Mr. Newton.”

  “That is wonderful news, Thomas.” Pierre clapped me on my back. “Thank you, Sir Theodore.”

  “Yes, thank you, your honor, sir…and, please pass my gratitude on to the king.” I felt like a bumbling fool. My hands trembled with the realization that it was over. I was free from Lord Green’s treacherous ways and could put the past behind me. I slipped the letter inside my overcoat and was about to stand thinking the release of property was the purpose of our visit, but before I could stand to leave, the sergeant spoke. His words deflated my rising spirits.

  “Now, on to more urgent matters, shall we?” The sergeant looked at us expectantly.

  “Your deputy mentioned something of national security.” Pierre shifted in his chair.

  “His majesty is under significant threat.” The sergeant pulled a handkerchief out of his coat sleeve and held it to his nose and mouth as if his words came with a foul stench. “In fact, the whole of England is at stake.”

  “I am sorry to be so unprepared for such news. What has happened to cause such beliefs?”

  “There is mounting tension between England, France, and the Netherlands. There are people throughout our great land, and especially in London who have begun a revolution against the Church of England, and his majesty. The unrest and upheaval are spreading quicker than we thought. We are in uncertain times, gentlemen.” He held out his hand as if indicating it was not our time to speak. He rang a small bell. The doors behind us opened immediately. The deputy came in.

  “Sir?”

  “My nerves are a wreck, and I am sure my guests cannot be enjoying themselves with all this unpleasant talk, despite the early hour, please pour us each a brandy before we continue. I simply cannot go on without one.”

  “As you wish.” The deputy bowed then left, returning moments later with a trolley and proceeded to pour each of us a double brandy. When he finished, he bowed and left the room, closing the doors behind him.

  The sergeant took a sip, closed his eyes, and sighed. “That is much better.”

  I looked at Pierre. He shrugged and took a sip. I followed his lead. The brandy was warm and sweet, nothing like the raw, harsh stuff I sold at Clapton’s. I wanted to know its origins and cost but knew it was not appropriate to ask. As I took another sip, the sergeant opened his eyes, set the glass down then leaned toward us, resting his elbows on his desk as if expecting us to say something.

  “Thank you, sir,” Pierre said. “It is exquisite.” He leaned back in his chair and cupped the glass in the palm of his hand. “First, let me say that your news is quite disheartening to hear. But if you do not mind my saying so, what does this have to do with me?”

  “We need you, Mr. Baptiste and quite frankly, Mr. Newton as well.”

  “I appreciate your confidence, we both do, but we have no authority in London to conduct an inquiry. Shouldn’t you be having these conversations with the magistrate, Jonathan Wilcox?”

  “No.” The Sergeant’s response was terse. “No, absolutely not.” He lowered his voice. “Mr. Wilcox is a product of our machinations. We have turned the other way when it suited our purposes, and in doing so, we have created a monster with full authority. He cannot be touched.”

  “But the king, surely he could—”

  “We know the kind of man the magistrate is. He is evil to the core of his soul, and we have allowed him to run rampant for far too long. After all these years, we have not one item of proof against the man.” He took a sip of his brandy. “We thought of bringing false charges against him, but we would fail to get a conviction.”

  “How’s that possible?”

  “Mr. Wilcox is a smart man, that is what makes him so dangerous. We cannot rule out the possibility that the judges are either too afraid to go against him, or are deep in his pockets. There is a strong possibility we would not get a conviction and Mr. Wilcox would be set free. If that were to happen, we would have a revolution on our hands, gentlemen. A war originating from our own people, and that would be the ammunition the French and Dutch need to invade us. Our kingdom would fall.”

  “This is going to sound rather crude, but why not just take him out. Eliminate the threat.”

  “We have thought of that, but even if we were successful, eliminating one is only going to strengthen the masses, particularly where the magistrate is concerned. We need to make sure we can stop the rebel’s momentum, and the only way we can see to do this is to bring down the magistrate’s entire operation and cripple the resistance.”

  “What has changed?” I asked. “I mean to make you believe we can help.” My heart was pounding in my chest. I did not know if it was due to the excitement and thrill of the sergeant’s story, or unadulterated fear. With a trembling hand, I took another sip of brandy, hoping it would calm me—it did not.

  “I assume you are aware of the recent murders in London?”

  “If you are referring to Mr. Reid and the Durant’s, yes, we are,” Pierre said.

  “They were not the first.”

  “The first what?” I asked.

  “To die.” The Sergeant covered his mouth and nose with the silk cloth. “Previous to Mr. Reid, someone murdered Mr. Barkus a fortnight ago, and before him Mr. Danforth.”

  “You suspect Mr. Wilcox?” My belly soured and knotted, and a warm heat washed over me, bringing a sheen of perspiration to my skin. I looked at Pierre then back to the Sergeant. There was an uneasy pause in the conversation, then he responded.

  “To be honest, we do not know whom to suspect, and we are aware we cannot trust Mr. Wilcox. Even if he is not guilty, he will use this as another opportunity to gain more footing against the king.”

  “And you believe these murders to be connected.” Pierre made it more of a statement than a question. “Thomas and I have visited the crime scene, and have talked to neighbors. We have not found anything linking them except for a few vague similarities.”

  “I am not surprised. That is one of the things that worry us. Someone knows who these men are.”

  “I do not understand.” Pierre finished his brandy.

  “All four of these men were part of the royal military. Three of them in the army, and one in the navy. Two of the men were stationed in the Netherlands during the War of Spanish Succession. The other two remained in London as informants.”

  “I have known the Reid’s for over ten years. They never said anything to me.”

  “They were not allowed to tell anyone. When Mr. Reid returned from the war, he was followed by two Dutch militants. We executed the two men, then changed his and his wife’s identity to protect them. As far as the king is concerned, no one knew their true identity.”

  “Someone did.”

  “Now you understand our concern, but to get back to Mr.
Newton’s question. For years we have watched you, Mr. Baptiste. Your reputation as a gentleman and an honest person is beyond reproach. We need someone on the inside we can trust.”

  “No,” I said with too much vigor and no respect for manners or etiquette. “Mr. Wilcox has already threatened Pierre if he continues to make inquiries into these murders.”

  “Threatened? How?”

  “Mr. Wilcox and I have a tense and rather unpleasant history.” Pierre took over the explanation.

  “Yes, yes. I know how you infiltrated the magistrate’s gang. That is why we want you. If you could do it back then, you can do it again.”

  “It is complicated, sir. Until recently, Mr. Wilcox did not make the connection that I was the young lad, who brought him down. Last night after the Durant’s murder he told me if I did not stay out of his way and stop my investigations, he would have me exiled back to France.”

  “Forget about his threats, Mr. Baptiste. Those exile papers are useless without the king’s signature, and my witness. We can protect you, so long as you do not break any laws, and the last I checked, being a concerned citizen is not a crime.”

  “It makes me nervous.” I shifted in the chair and rested my elbows on my knees. “Mr. Wilcox wants nothing more than to cause Pierre trouble. He has gone so far as to say Pierre is perverting the course of justice, and that is a crime.”

  “You, my dear, Mr. Newton are getting carried away.” He waved his hand as if dismissing my concerns.

  I was not going to let him silence me. “You said yourself Mr. Wilcox cannot be trusted. Even the king is afraid to arrest him, fearing he has the judges in his pocket. I will not let you, or anyone else put Pierre in that kind of danger.” I took a deep breath to control the growing frustration and worry building inside me. With an exhale, I felt some of the stress depart. I started over. “You cannot possibly try to put Pierre in that position. He will not be able to get close enough. Mr. Wilcox will never allow it.”

  “If Mr. Wilcox is so untrusting of Mr. Baptiste, why was he invited to the dinner party last night to honor Mr. Borgstrom?”

  “He did so because of me.”

  “Do you care to explain?”

  “I made a deal with Mr. Wilcox last year, one I am not proud of, but at the time I was desperate. He agreed to tell me the location where Lord Green was keeping Pierre and Christopher, and in return, he could call on me at some point to do some work for him. He invited us because he is ready for me to repay the debt I owe him.”

  “Good.”

  “Sir?” Pierre and I said at the same time.

  “Oh, this is good news, Mr. Newton. Good news indeed.” A quivering smile creased the thick powder at the edge of his lips. I could tell he was pleased and was trying not to show it. “It means that you already have ingratiated yourself into the magistrate’s world. That will make things much easier.” This time he smiled proudly. The tips of his fingers drummed together as if they were some disconnected clock gears churning the thoughts in his head.

  “I wouldn’t say that. Mr. Wilcox wants me in his den of thieves.”

  “Exactly, and that shall be the magistrate’s downfall.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Mr. Newton, you will take Mr. Wilcox up on the debt he believes you owe him, and in doing so, you can keep an eye on him and report back to me.”

  “You want me to be a spy for the king?”

  “In a matter of speaking, yes.”

  Chapter 7

  “Mon amour, you have not said a word since we left Parliament.” Pierre placed his hand on my leg and gave me a gentle pat.

  “I am sorry?” My mind was too distracted from the events of the morning to understand what Pierre had said. I looked at him. His sweet, caring face warmed my heart. I reached out and stroked his cheek. The roughness of his morning whiskers pricked at my skin. We smiled at one another. The Hackney carriage stopped. I pulled my gaze from Pierre’s and realized we were already back home. The entire journey from Parliament happened without my notice, as I struggled with the king’s request. The door to the carriage opened. Pierre and I were helped out.

  “Good day to you, sirs.” The coachman bowed then shut the door behind us.

  “Thank you,” Pierre replied.

  Not feeling much like talking, I smiled and nodded at the royal coachman. He winked and gave me a knowing look. It was the same expression I used to see on hundreds of men during my time working for Mother. If I had been in a more stable state of mind, I might have played along, patted his bottom or blew him a kiss, but there was just too much going on inside my head to contemplate such frivolity.

  “Now I know something is wrong.” Pierre opened the side door of Clapton’s for me.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The coachman. He was all over you with his eyes, and you did not seem to notice.” He put his arm around my shoulder and drew me into a one-sided embrace as we walked into the living space. “You know you do not have to do it.”

  “I do not remember being given the option of saying no.”

  “Saying no to what?” Christopher came up and gave us each a kiss. “Nothing personal, my love, but that was a rather cold kiss. Let me get a bottle of gin and we can make ourselves comfortable in the living room. Something tells me we are going to need a few drinks in us.”

  Pierre and I took off our overcoats and sat down on the couch together. He rubbed my back and kissed my shoulder. I knew he wanted to help, to ease my worries and fears, but the truth of the matter was I did not know myself why I had reacted so strongly to the king’s request. I pulled off my wig and scratched my head as Christopher came with the alcohol, and four glasses. Sheppard followed him.

  “Okay, so what is going on?” Christopher poured the drinks.

  “I have my own.” Sheppard pulled out a hip flask, unscrewed the cap, and took a drink. “Is my presence not welcome?” He looked at me then at the others as if he saw something in our combined expressions that was distasteful. “I never meant to overstep my bounds between…”

  “Please, you know you are more than someone in our employ.” I looked over at Pierre, concerned that Sheppard had started carrying spirits on his person. From Pierre’s expression, I thought better of saying anything. “You are more than welcome to stay,” I said to end the uncomfortable silence.

  “Are you sure that is wise?” Pierre looked at Sheppard then at me. “No offense, Sheppard, but the fewer people who know—”

  “I know what the king said, but you are all my family, and I have placed everyone in danger. He has a right to know.”

  “Like I said, Thomas, you do not have to do this.”

  “Do I not? How do you turn down a request from the king? Besides, I am not sure I would want to turn it down.”

  “Then what is the problem?”

  “I am just trying to work out how I went from being a high-paid catamite to a spy for the king of England.”

  “Good Lord,” Christopher threw back a shot then refilled his glass. “You are serious. His majesty has asked you to be a spy?”

  “Yes, and for none other than our magistrate, Jonathan Wilcox.”

  “This is a fucking joke, right?” Christopher noticed Sheppard wincing at his choice of words. “Sorry.”

  “Your apology does not need to be directed at me, sir.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling, indicating to Christopher whom he should be asking for forgiveness. As if ending some silent ritual, Sheppard took a sip from his flask.

  “I assume you said yes.” Christopher ignored Sheppard’s comment.

  “I am sorry, but I did not feel like I had a choice in the matter. Mr. Wilcox has already threatened to exile Pierre if he continues his inquiries into these murders. If I do this, then I have the word of the sergeant-at-arms and of the king that they will protect Pierre. I am not losing Pierre or anyone else ever again.”

  “What is the plan?” Christopher said.

  I spent the next hour recounting mine and Pie
rre’s conversation with the sergeant including the connection of the murdered men, and what the expectations were of going to work for Mr. Wilcox. Pierre interjected his observations and opinions from time to time, but neither Sheppard nor Christopher said a word until I finished all I had to say.

  “I do not like this,” Christopher said as he leaned back in the chair.

  “Neither do I, but Thomas has a point. How do you say no to the king?”

  “I know, Pierre, but it still does not make me feel any better. What can I do?”

  “I do not want you anywhere near this.” My tone was sharper than I intended and I saw the sting in Christopher’s expression. “Look, I am sorry. Pierre is already a target. I cannot risk you getting involved. It is too dangerous.”

  “I have to agree with Thomas,” Pierre said. “The fewer people who know what is going on, the better. It will be safer for everyone concerned. Remember, no one outside the four of us can know the real purpose of Thomas’ involvement with Mr. Wilcox.”

  “What about Miss. Dutton?” Sheppard asked.

  “No, she cannot know.” Pierre placed his glass on the table.

  “Do not worry about me. I have no plans on seeing that…her, but I know the three of you are close to her.”

  “Are you saying she cannot be trusted?” I was surprised by Pierre’s firm stance of doubting her loyalty.

  “Bess is too close to Mr. Wilcox. I am not saying we cannot trust her, but she will be the first to admit that Mr. Wilcox saved her from the streets. As far as Bess knows, you have agreed to pay off the debt you owe Mr. Wilcox, nothing more. It is safer for everyone concerned.”

  “I suppose your right. We were told not to trust anyone. So, we are in agreement? No one outside of the four of us will know my real purpose.”